A Party "Up Back" -- Inklings in January, 2026

It's been a long, long time since I participated in one of Heidi's Inklings link-ups on her blog Along the Brandywine, but I'm hoping to be part of the fun again.

This month, Heidi invites us to share a party scene from a book or movie.  I'm choosing to share a bit from a memorable party scene in The Blue Castle by L. M. Montgomery.  

(From my Bookstagram account)

As a bit of context, this party takes place in remote, rural Canada in the 1920s.  Valancy Stirling grew up in a repressive, snobby family in a small town and has only heard vague rumors about the dances "up back" in the wild regions far from town.  But her employer has been hired to play his fiddle for the dance and invites her to attend, and she decides it's time to attend a party again after years of being convinced she's too much of an old maid.  So, off she goes, and here's what happens (but shortened a bit here and there because it's kind of a long passage):

At first, the dance was quiet enough, and Valancy was amused and entertained.  She even danced twice herself, with a couple of nice 'up back' boys who danced beautifully and told her she did, too...

The big room was decorated with pine and fir boughs, and lighted by Chinese lanterns.  The floor was waxed, and Roaring Abel's fiddle, purring under his skilled touch, worked magic.  The 'up back' girls were pretty and prettily dressed.  Valancy thought it the nicest party she had ever attended.

By eleven o'clock she had changed her mind.  A new crowd had arrived -- a crowd unmistakably drunk.  Whiskey began to circulate freely.  Very soon almost all the men were partly drunk... The room grew noisy and reeking.  Quarrels started up here and there... The girls, swung rudely in the dances, became dishevelled and tawdry.  Valancy, alone in her corner, was feeling disgusted and repentant.  Why had she ever come to such a place?  Freedom and independence were all very well, but one should not be a little fool... Her head was aching -- she was sick of the whole thing.  But what could she do?  She must stay to the end.  Abel could not leave till then.  And that would probably be not till three or four in the morning.

The new influx of boys had left the girls far in the minority and partners were scarce.  Valancy was pestered with invitations to dance.  She refused them all shortly, and some of her refusals were not well taken.  There were muttered oaths and sullen looks.  Across the room she saw a group of the strangers talking together and glancing meaningly at her.  What were they plotting?

It was at this moment that she saw Barney Snaith looking in over the heads of the crowds at the doorway.  Valancy had two distinct convictions -- one was that she was quite safe no; the other was that this was why she had wanted to come to the dance.  It had been such an absurd hope that she had not recognised it before, but now she knew she had come because of the possibility that Barney might be there, too.  She thought that perhaps she ought to be ashamed for this, but she wasn't.  After her feeling of relief her next feeling was one of annoyance with Barney for coming there unshaved.  Surely he might have enough self-respect to groom himself up decently when he went to a party.  There he was, bareheaded, bristly-chinned, in his old trousers and his blue homespun shirt.  Not even a coat.  Valancy could have shaken him in her anger.  No wonder people believed everything bad of him.

It's a pretty big turning point in a book filled with turning points -- Valancy realizing she wanted to go to a party only because she might see Barney Snaith, the local "bad boy" that no one "decent" associates with because a) he drives a constantly-breaking-down car, b) he goes for drives in said car with no hat on, and c) no one knows where or how he gets enough money to live on.  Absolute scoundrel, obviously.  But very kind to people who don't stick their noses up at him, as Valancy has recently learned.  

(Also from my Bookstagram account)

I think the most telling thing, though Valancy doesn't recognize it at the time, is that she feels angry that Barney seems to have no self-respect.  It's almost like she feels the need to protect him from the spiteful thoughts of others, and she's upset because he's just giving them more reasons to judge him unfairly.  It's a first step toward Valancy understanding her own heart, even if she doesn't realize it quite yet.

There's a bit more to the party scene, but I won't share it here so that anyone who hasn't read The Blue Castle yet will have some fun surprises in this chapter yet :-)

(One more from my Bookstagram account)

Heidi is actually the person who convinced me to read The Blue Castle in the first place.  Friends kept talking about it, and she is the one who finally convinced me to check it out from the library.  And now it's one of my top favorite books of all time!

Have you read The Blue Castle?  If so, do you remember this scene?  If not, what are you waiting for?

So Dawn Goes Down to Day: January 2025 Inklings

My friend Heidi at Along the Brandywine has gotten her wonderful monthly link-up series going again!  She's letting the January edition linger into the first week or so of February, so I am not too late to join.  Whew!  I used to participate in this a few years ago, sometimes on this blog and sometimes on my movie blog, and it was always fun.

Since this is my first time participating in a long time, I'll repost the rules here so you understand how it works.

Rules: 

1. At any time during the month, on your own blog post a scene from a book or film that matches the prompt, including a link back here in your post. 

2. Make sure to come back and leave a link to your entry in the box on this post. That's it!

The first prompt for 2025 is A scene at sunrise.  I'm choosing a quiet, but powerful moment from one of my absolute favorite books, The Outsiders by S. E. Hinton.  Two teenage boys from the poor side of Tulsa, Ponyboy Curtis and Johnny Cade, are hiding out in the countryside because they think they're wanted for murder, and they wake up one morning to something that amazes them.

One morning I woke up earlier than usual.  Johnny and I slept huddled together for warmth -- Dally had been right when he said it would get cold where we were going.  Being careful not to wake Johnny up, I went to sit on the steps and smoke a cigarette.  The dawn was coming then.  All the lower valley was covered with mist, and sometimes little pieces of it broke off and floated away in small clouds.  The sky was lighter in the east, and the horizon was a thin golden line.  The clouds changed from gray to pink, and the mist was touched with gold.  There was a silent moment when everything held its breath, and then the sun rose.  It was beautiful.

"Golly" -- Johnny's voice beside me made me jump -- "that sure was pretty."

"Yeah."  I sighed, wishing I had some paint to do a picture with while the sight was still fresh in my mind.

"The mist was what was pretty," Johnny said.  "All gold and silver."

"Uhmmmm," I said, trying to blow a smoke ring.

"Too bad it couldn't stay like that all the time."

"Nothing gold can stay."  I was remembering a poem I'd read once.

(Chapter 5)

And then Ponyboy recites the Robert Frost poem "Nothing Gold Can Stay."  When I read this book the first time at age 14, I promptly memorized that poem so I could recite it at the drop of a hat, just like Ponyboy.  It's such a quiet scene, but filled with amazing imagery.  All the hope and promise of the future are wrapped up in that sunrise, and here stand these two tough kids who are sure their futures will be anything but hopeful and promising, but they glory in that sunrise anyway.

The 1983 film version of The Outsiders is one of the best book-to-movie adaptations ever, so I'll leave you with this shot of that scene in the movie.

Thrusting the Snow Aside: February 2021 Inklings

It's still February, so I still have time to join this month's Inklings link-up hosted by Heidi here at Along the Brandywine.  This month, the prompt is a snow scene in book or film.

I'm choosing the attempt to pass through the Redhorn Gate in the White Mountains of Middle-earth in The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring by J.R.R. Tolkien.  The fellowship is trying to make their way through the mountains, but a mysterious and evil snowstorm falls upon them and forces them to halt.  They realize they must turn back, but they've become cut off by vast mounts of snow, both before them and behind them.  The snow is so deep, it's far over the heads of the hobbits, and they'll never be able to struggle through it.  So Aragorn and Boromir decide to force a path through it for the others to follow.

Aragorn was the tallest of the Company, but Boromir, little less in height, was broader and heavier in build.  He led the way, and Aragorn followed him.  Slowly they moved off, and were soon toiling heavily.  In places the snow was breast-high, and often Boromir seemed to be swimming or burrowing with his great arms rather than walking (p. 284).

I love that image of the two mighty warriors and leaders of men turning themselves into snowplows to make a path for the smaller members of their company.  And that's not all they do!  When they return, the hobbits worry that still the snow will be too deep underfoot for them to get through.

"Have hope!" said Boromir.  "I am weary, but I still have some strength left, and Aragorn too.  We will bear the little folk.  The others no doubt will make shift to tread the path behind us.  Come, Master Peregrin!  I will begin with you."

He lifted up the hobbit.  "Cling to my back! I shall need my arms," he said and strode forward.  Aragorn and Merry came behind.  Pippin marvelled at his strength, seeing the passage that he had already forced with no other tool than his great limbs.  Even now, burdened as he was, he was widening the track for those who followed, thrusting the snow aside as he went (p. 285-86).

Again, what an amazing example of true leadership!  The heir to the stewardship of Gondor and the rightful king of all Middle-earth use their strength to serve others.  They're not too proud or too busy or too filled with their own self-importance to serve even the smallest person.  What mighty leaders!

(Mine from my Instagram account.)

I'm eager to see what Heidi's prompt for next month is!  Here's hoping I don't wait to participate until the very last day next time ;-)

That Curious Sense of Freedom: January 2021 Inklings!

You may remember that, a few years ago, Heidi Pekarek hosted a monthly link-up series called Inkling Explorations.  It was a low-key way to share book and movie scenes around a common theme, once a month, and it was really fun.  Heidi revived the series (now called Inklings!) recently, and I'm joining in this month!

The January prompt is a new beginning in book or film.  Since I recently reread The Blue Castle by L. M. Montgomery, which is all about new beginnings, I thought I would share this passage from the end of chapter eight, when Valancy Stirling makes a momentous decision that changes her life forever.

"I've had nothing but a second-hand existence," decided Valancy.  "All the great emotions of life have passed me by.  I've never even had a grief.  And have I ever really loved anybody?  Do I really love Mother?  No, I don't.  That's the truth, whether it is disgraceful or not.  I don't love her -- I've never loved her.  What's worse, I don't even like her.  So I don't know anything about any kind of love.  My life has been empty -- empty.  Nothing is worse than emptiness.  Nothing!"  Valancy ejaculated the last "nothing" aloud passionately.  Then she moaned and stopped thinking about anything for a while. One of her attacks of pain had come on.

When it was over, something had happened to Valancy -- perhaps the culmination of the process that had been going on in her mind ever since she had read Dr. Trent's letter.  It was three o'clock in the morning -- the wisest and most accursed hour of the clock.  But sometimes it sets us free.

"I've been trying to please other people all my life and failed," she said.  "After this I shall please myself.  I shall never pretend anything again.  I've breathed an atmosphere of fibs and pretenses and evasions all my life.  What a luxury it will be to tell the truth! I may not be able to do much that I want to do but I won't do another thing that I don't want to do.  Mother can pout for weeks -- I shan't worry over it. 'Despair is a free man -- hope is a slave.'"

Valancy got up and dressed, with a deepening of that curious sense of freedom.  When she had finished with her hair she opened the window and hurled the jar of potpourri over into the next lot.  It smashed gloriously against the schoolgirl complexion on the old carriage-shop.

"I am sick of fragrance of dead things," said Valancy.

If you haven't read The Blue Castle yet (or lately), it's a perfect book for January, when our thoughts turn to new beginnings, resolutions, and attempts to change ourselves or our lives.

(Mine from my Bookstagram account)

Check out this post on Heidi's blog about the Inklings! link-up and join in the fun yourself!  Or just see what other people have been contributing.

The Rose-Covered Cabin: Inkling Explorations for June, 2016

The prompt for this month's Inkling Explorations link-up is "Roses in book or film."  And I'm going to do something very different this month.  I'm going to share an excerpt of my own writing, namely, a passage from "The Man on the Buckskin Horse."  Actually, my original title for my western retelling of the Sleeping Beauty story was "The Rose-Covered Cabin," but it got changed to something more distinctly western-y when it won a spot in the Five Magic Spindles anthology.

Anyway!!!  Here's the excerpt:

I have long considered the Owenses' little place the prettiest this side of the Platte River. The cabin rests at the bottom of a small depression in the land, right along a reliable stream bordered by cottonwoods and such. I remember how poor Juliet brought roses with her from back East, bundle after bundle of dead-looking sticks so far as I could see. But somehow she coaxed them to grow around her new little home. I'm grateful she lived long enough to see the way they flourished, how they climbed up the walls clear to the roof and on over it. When those roses are in bloom, you couldn't paint a nicer picture, and their scent more than masks what you'll smell if the sheep are pastured nearby. I suspect that might be one reason Juliet planted so many of them.

(Source)

I am so excited about this book getting released!  Only a month to wait now -- July 22 is the official date, though you can preorder it (paperback and Kindle editions) from Amazon now.  This is my first time winning a major contest, and the first time my fiction will be for sale in a real book, which makes it all even more thrilling.  The Kindle version was in the top 100 for fantasy anthologies a couple of days ago, and it hasn't even been released yet!

Don't forget to visit Heidi's blog, Sharing the Journey, to find links to all the others who participated this month, and to join in yourself if you so desire!

Her Hair was a Hot Sunset: Inkling Explorations for April, 2016

This month, the topic for Heidi Peterson's Inkling Explorations literary link-up is "A description of a lady in literature."  Partly because I'm re-reading one of his novels now, and mostly because his descriptions are what I love best about him, I am today going to share with you not one, not two, but five descriptions of women written by my favorite author, Raymond Chandler.

Chandler can take any image and find some fresh, unusual, and often sarcastic or cynical way to describe it.  Because I'm short on time right now, I'm pulling these quotes from a dandy little book, Philip Marlowe's Guide to Life, edited by Martin Asher.  It's a collection of some of the snappiest bits from all of Chandler's books, which all starred hard-boiled detective Philip Marlowe.  Here are some of my favorites, which give you a good taste of his style.

+++++

She was wearing a white wool skirt, a burgundy silk blouse and a black velvet over-jacket with short sleeves.  Her hair was a hot sunset.  She wore a golden topaz bracelet and topaz earrings and a topaz dinner ring in the shape of a shield.  Her fingernails matched her blouse exactly.  She looked as if it would take a couple of weeks to get her dressed.  --The Little Sister


It was a blonde.  A blonde to make a bishop kick a hole in a stained glass window.  --Farewell, My Lovely

It was a nice face, a face you get to like.  Pretty, but not so pretty that you would have to wear brass knuckles every time you took it out.  --Farewell, My Lovely


To say she had a face that would have stopped a clock would have been to insult her.  It would have stopped a runaway horse.  --The Little Sister

The little blonde at the PBX cocked a shell-like ear and smiled a small fluffy smile.  She looked playful and eager, but not quite sure of herself, like a new kitten in a house where they don't care much about kittens.  --The Lady in the Lake

+++++

If you've never read one of Chandler's books, but you love mysteries with a good swagger to them, please do yourself a favor and try one.  And if you haven't checked out the Inkling Explorations series yet, do that as well!  It's a fun way to share books and movies you love.

Unmasked at Last: Inkling Explorations for February, 2016

This month, the topic for Heidi's Inkling Explorations series is "A scene involving a disguise in book or film."

I've decided to share one of my favorite moments of The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas.  It's kind of long, and it comes from very close to the end of the book.  If you don't know the story, I'll just tell you that a young man named Edmond Dantes is falsely imprisoned at the beginning of it, and escapes prison to wreak fantastical vengeance on the people who conspired to imprison him.  He uses a hidden treasure to transform himself into the wealthy, mysterious Count of Monte Cristo and sets about his dark work.  Here, at the end of the book, he confronts one of them, a Monsieur de Villefort, and reveals his true identity.  In fact, he has to shed two disguises to do so.

     When Villefort entered, Noirtier seemed to be listening, attentively and as affectionately as his paralysis allowed, to Abbe Busoni, who was as calm and emotionless as ever.
Seeing the abbe, Villefort put his hand to his forehead.  The past returned to him like one of those waves which in its rage raises more foam than any of its fellows.  He recalled the visit that he had paid to the abbe the day after the dinner in Auteuil and the visit that the abbe had paid him on the day of Valentine's death.
     "Are you here, Monsieur!" he said.  "And do you never appear except in the company of Death?"
     Busoni rose to his feet.  Seeing the look on the lawyer's face and the fierce light burning in his eyes, he realized, or thought he realized, that the events at the assizes had taken place.  He knew nothing of the rest.  
     "I came to pray over the body of your daughter," Busoni replied.
     "And today?  Why are you here today?"
     "I have come to tell you that you have paid your debt to me and that from now on I shall pray God that He will be satisfied, as I am."
     "That voice!" Villefort cried, shrinking back with a horrified look on his face.  "It is not Abbe Busoni's!"
     "No."
     The abbe tore off his tonsured wig and shook his head, so that his long black hair fell freely across his shoulders, framing his masculine features.
     "That is the face of Monte Cristo!" Villefort exclaimed, looking aghast.
     "Not quite, Monsieur.  Look harder, and further back."
     "That voice!  That voice!  Where did I hear it for the first time?"
     "You heard it first in Marseille, twenty-three years ago, on the day of your wedding to Mademoiselle de Saint-Meran.  Look in your files."
     "You are not Busoni?  You are not Monte Cristo?  You are that hidden enemy, deadly and implacable!  I did something to harm you, something in Marseille!  Oh, woe is me!"
     "Yes, you are right, you are absolutely right," the count said, crossing his arms over his broad chest.  "Think!  Think!"
     "But what did I do to you?" Villefort cried, his mind already hovering on the borderline between reason and madness, in that mist which is no longer a dream but not yet wakefulness.  "What did I do to you?  Tell me!  Speak!"
     "You condemned me to a slow and frightful death, you killed my father, and you deprived me of love at the same time as you deprived me of freedom, and of fortune as well as love!"
     "Who are you?  Then who are you?"
     "I am the spectre of an unfortunate man whom you locked up in the dungeons of the Chateau d'If.  When this spectre finally emerged from its tomb, God put on it the mask of the Count of Monte Cristo and showered it with diamonds and gold so that you should not recognize it until today."
     "Ah!  I recognize you, I do recognize you!" the crown prosecutor said.  "You are..."
     "I am Edmond Dantes!"

Oooooh, I get such delicious shivers from that final line.  The Count of Monte Cristo is my second-favorite book of all time, and I'm starting to feel like I'm due for a reread.  Or at least to watch one of the two movie versions I love, the Richard Chamberlain or the Jim Caviezel.

Begin Again: Inkling Explorations for January, 2016

I've spent like a week trying to decide on what "new beginning" in literature to highlight for this month's Inkling Explorations link-up on Sharing the Journey, and last night, I found just what I wanted, while I wasn't searching at all.  I finished rereading Anne of Green Gables by L. M. Montgomery last night, and while I was reading the last two pages, I found exactly what I want to share for this.  We're snowed in this morning and church has been cancelled, so I'm going to grab a minute before all the kids are up to quick post this :-)

DISCLAIMER:  This is obviously full of SPOILAGE since it's from the last two pages of the book.  

Halfway down the hill a tall lad came whistling out of the gate before the Blythe homestead.  It was Gilbert, and the whistle died on his lips as he recognized Anne.  He lifted his cap courteously, but he would have passed on in silence, if Anne had not stopped and held out her hand. 

"Gilbert," she said, with scarlet cheeks, "I want to thank you for giving up the school for me.  It was very good of you -- and I want you to know that I appreciate it." 

Gilbert took the offered hand eagerly.  "It wasn't particularly good of me at all. Anne.  I was pleased to be able to do you some small service.  Are we going to be friends after this?  Have you really forgiven me my old fault?" 

Anne laughed and tried unsuccessfully to withdraw her hand.  "I forgave you that day by the pond landing, although I didn't know it.  What a stubborn little goose I was.  I've been -- I may as well make a complete confession -- I've been sorry ever since." 

"We are going to be the best of friends," said Gilbert, jubilantly.  "We were born to be good friends, Anne.  You've thwarted destiny long enough.  I know we can help each other in many ways.  You are going to keep up your studies, aren't you?  So am I.  Come, I'm going to walk home with you."

If you know the story of Anne of Green Gables, you know that Anne has spent the entire book being angry at Gilbert Blythe because he pulled her red hair and called her "Carrots" on one of her first days in Avonlea.  He begged her to forgive him several times, and she always refused, but after five years of growiing up, Anne is finally mature enough to know how to let go of a grudge.  And so her life as a child has ended, and her life as a young woman begins.

A Song of Thanksgiving -- Inkling Explorations for November, 2015

This month, Heidi Peterson's Inklings link-up topic is "A Giving of Thanks in Poetry or Prose."  I've decided to share one of my favorite hymns for my submission.

I love the words for this hymn so much!  Some of the lines are just gorgeous and beg to be said or sung;  "glad adoration" is probably my favorite part because it's such a great and unexpected moment of internal rhyming.  Not only is the message lovely, but it's set to a lively Welsh tune that makes me smile.  Here's a video to give you an idea of how it sounds when sung:

And just because I love the hammered dulcimer, here's a rendition of the tune alone on that enchanting instrument:

That's my submission for this month -- I hope you enjoyed it! 

It's Funny -- Inkling Explorations for September, 2015

This month's edition of Heidi Peterson's Inkling Explorations is focused on "A Funny Story Opening in Literature."  I'm going to share the beginning of Gambit, one of Rex Stout's Nero Wolfe Mysteries.

At twenty-seven minutes past eleven that Monday morning in February, Lincoln's Birthday, I opened the door between the office and the front room, entered, shut the door, and said, "Miss Blount is here."

Without turning his head Wolfe let out a growl, yanked out some more pages and dropped them on the fire, and demanded, "Who is Miss Blount?"

I tightened my lips and then parted them to say, "She is the daughter of Matthew Blount, president of the Blount Textile Corporation, who is in the coop charged with murder, and she has an appointment with you at eleven-thirty, as you know.  If you're pretending you've forgotten, nuts.  You knew you couldn't finish that operation in half an hour.  Besides, how about the comments I have heard you make about book burners?"

"They are not relevant to this."  He yanked out more pages.  "I am a man, not a government or a committee of censors.  Having paid forty-seven dollars and fifty cents for this book, and having examined it and found it subversive and intolerably offensive, I am destroying it."  He dropped the pages on the fire.  "I'm in no mood to listen to a woman.  Ask her to come after lunch."

"I have also heard you comment about people who dodge appointments they have made."

Pause.  More pages.  Then:  "Very well.  Bring her here."

I returned to the office, shutting the door, crossed to the red leather chair near the end of Wolfe's desk where I had seated the caller, and faced her.  She tilted her head back to look up at me.  She was a brownie, not meaning a Girl Scout -- small ears and a small nose, big brown eyes, a lot of brown hair, and a wide mouth that would have been all right with the corners turned up instead of down.

"I'd better explain," I told her.  "Mr. Wolfe is in the middle of a fit.  It's complicated.  There's a fireplace in the front room, but it's never lit because he hates open fires.  He says they stultify mental processes.  But it's lit now because he's using it.  He's seated in front of it, on a chair too small for him, tearing sheets out of a book and burning them.  The book is the new edition, the third edition, of Webster's New International Dictionary, Unabridged, published by the G. & C. Merriam Company of Springfield, Massachusetts.  He considers it subversive because it threatens the integrity of the English language.  In the past week he has given me a thousand examples of its crimes.  He says it is a deliberate attempt to murder the -- I beg your pardon.  I describe the situation at length because he told me to bring you in there, and it will be bad.  Even if he hears what you say, his mental processes are stultified.  Could you come back later?  After lunch he may be human."

She was staring up at me.  "He's burning up a dictionary?"

"Right.  That's nothing.  Once he burned up a cookbook because it said to remove the hide from a ham end before putting it in the pot with lima beans.  Which he loves most, food or words, is a tossup."

(Gambit by Rex Stout, p. 1-2)

I always get a big kick out of Archie Goodwin and Nero Wolfe, and these books routinely make me laugh, which is why I often refer to them as "nice, cheerful murder mysteries."  This opener is one of my favorites, because I love how much Wolfe loves words, that he would burn a dictionary in their defense -- but it's so ridiculous too, and so I laugh with glee.

Don't forget to visit Heidi's writing blog, Sharing the Journey, to read other people's entries into this month's Inkling Explorations and to link up your own!

Gripping Story Opening -- Inkling Explorations for June

Heidi Peterson has a monthly link-up on her writing blog, Sharing the Journey, and last month I answered it on my Soliloquy blog because I was so busy with the Little Women read-along over here and didn't have post space.  This month is focusing on books, so I'm posting over here, though if there's another time when I answer about movies, I would probably do that on the Soliloquy instead just because that blog has more about movies.

So anyway, this month's focus is on "A Gripping Story Opening in Literature."  I've decided to share the opening from Vera Caspary's Laura:

The city that Sunday morning was quiet.  Those millions of New Yorkers who, by need or preference, remain in town over a summer week-end had been crushed spiritless by humidity.  Over the island hung a fog that smelled and felt like water in which too many soda-water glasses have been washed.  Sitting at my desk, pen in hand, I treasured the sense that, among those millions, only I, Waldo Lydecker, was up and doing.  The day just past, devoted to shock and misery, had stripped me of sorrow.  Now I had gathered strength for the writing of Laura's epitaph.  My grief at her sudden and violent death found consolation in the thought that my friend, had she lived to a ripe old age, would have passed into oblivion, whereas the violence of her passing and the genius of her admirer gave her a fair chance at immortality. 

My doorbell rang.  Its electric vibrations had barely ceased when Roberto, my Filipino manservant, came to tell me that Mr. McPherson had asked to see me. 

"Mark McPherson!" I exclaimed, and then, assuming the air of one who might meet Mussolini without trepidation, I bade Roberto to ask Mr. McPherson to wait.  Mahomet had not rushed out to meet the mountain.  

It poses so many questions, doesn't it?  Who on earth is this snooty-sounding Waldo Lydecker, who clearly is almost as infatuated with words as with himself?  Who is Mark McPherson?  And who, above all, is this murdered woman, Laura?

If you've seen the movie, you know the answers.  And, if you've seen the movie, but not read the book, you're probably going, "Whoa, whoa, wait -- Waldo Lydecker narrates the book?!  Is this genius or madness?"  At least, that was my response the first time I read it ;-)  And actually, IIRC, Mark McPherson narrates part of it too, though I must admit it's been more than 6 years since I read this.

I KNOW Heidi said this wasn't supposed to be about movies this month, however!  The 1944 movie version is so perfectly cast I must include a couple pictures from it.  (Heidi, please don't whack me with a broom or anything.)

Clifton Webb as Waldo Lydecker

Gene Tierney as Laura and Vincent Price as Shelby, in a flashback

Dana Andrews as Mark McPherson